"How do you see your future?"
"I haven't decided yet, Your Majesty. Most likely, my brother and I will either go to the Riverlands—I hear they still need swords there—or return home to our castle."
"What do you think of me?" Of course, I wasn't a naive fool, and I didn't expect to hear the truth, but I wanted to see his reaction.
"You are the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms," he replied firmly.
"Is that all?"
"I am new here, and I have not yet formed an opinion. And I don't pay much attention to rumors."
"Good." I actually liked his answer and the way he carried himself—without flattery or fear. I continued, "I like the name you suggested for my sword. Wind of Change has a nice ring to it. And I like what I've learned about you. What would you say if I asked you to be my man?"
"I would consider it an honor, Your Majesty," he said, dropping to one knee without looking surprised. So he wasn't stupid, and he had been able to guess that I was inviting him to something like that. Another point in his favor.
"Excellent, but I must warn you that I will require you to take an oath of allegiance, which you will have to take in the sept. Is that acceptable to you?"
"I will be only too happy to take the oath and serve a worthy man."
The mention of serving a worthy man pleased me too. Ser Herald was hinting that he expected only assignments that would not discredit his honor and dignity.
"So it shall be, Ser Orm," I smiled. "Welcome to my ranks. Robert will show you to your room and help you find your way during the first few days."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," he rose from his knees. "I will not let you down."
"That's good to hear. Then, in an hour, I'll see you at the Great Sept."
That's how quickly and easily it all turned out. To be honest, such cases were commonplace in Westeros. Noble and influential lords had always used different people for various tasks. It was only me—with my idea of what an oath should be—who complicated everything. Many people entered the service of an influential person much more easily, without all these ceremonies.
First, I wanted to take a closer look at Herald—let him accompany me, carrying out various tasks, much like Bronn does for Tyrion. Then I would objectively assess his abilities and decide what else he could be entrusted with.
An hour later, Ser Herald took a solemn oath in the Great Sept, promising to serve honestly and protect the king's life.
Orm didn't ask me for anything. But I knew he was a little short on money, and his wardrobe could certainly use refreshing. I gave him a pouch of gold coins for initial expenses. Herald was genuinely embarrassed.
"Take it, take it—you're not going to do your duty for free."
That's how I got my first man. He accompanied me everywhere and initially attracted some attention—people were clearly trying to get a better look at the new man in the king's retinue.
That day, after lunch, there was a general melee in which, showing remarkable skill with a sword and on horseback, Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers, took first place.
Margaery's eyes sparkled with delight—she was so happy for her brother's success. Ser Mace Tyrell also looked pleased; he glanced at the spectators every minute, inviting them to admire and express their respect for him as a father who had raised such a son—and for Highgarden, where there would never be a shortage of glorious knights.
***
POV Petyr Baelish
The day had started perfectly. Unnoticed by anyone, he had managed to visit King's Landing and complete the necessary preparations. There was so much to consider, so much to control, that entrusting such a task to someone else would have been tantamount to suicide.
After lunch, when the whole city was already celebrating the royal wedding, Petyr returned to his own galley. There, his reliable crew and loyal captain were waiting for him.
Once, long ago, when Petyr himself had been performing the difficult and highly lucrative service of customs chief in the Guiltown, he caught a smuggler and murderer from Braavos named Dirki Bowg, nicknamed Golden Mouth. Dirki had faced the death penalty and would inevitably have been hanged had Petyr not intervened.
Thus, he gained a loyal and very useful man who knew a great deal, had been to many places, and therefore had seen even more. Moreover, the Braavosi knew that if anything went wrong—if he tried to betray his benefactor—inevitable punishment would befall both him and his family. Therefore, it was far more profitable to serve Littlefinger, carrying out various delicate assignments… for money, of course.
"All right, my lord?" asked another trusted man, a border knight named Ser Lothor Brun—a stocky man with a flat nose—helping him climb aboard. He was currently serving as Littlefinger's chief of security.
"Yes, Ser Lotor, everything is going splendidly," Petyr smiled slightly and turned to the captain. "We're leaving."
"As you say, my lord," Bowg muttered through a jaw full of rotten stumps, turned on his heel, and went to give orders.
Taking advantage of the ebb tide, the King of Sardine easily reached the open sea, and when the coast became only a narrow strip far on the horizon, it drifted.
The oars were stowed away, and the sails were rolled up. The sun's rays fell like spears from the cloudless sky, heating everything they touched. The hottest time of day had arrived, and people preferred to retreat to their cabins or the shade to endure the sweltering hours. The galley rocked gently on the shallow waves. Several seagulls landed on the water near the ship, hoping to find something to eat.
(End of Chapter)
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